And then the dog peed into the bin. The bin with my artwork. For the second time. For the second substantially more voluminous time.
After a long weekend of frustrations, it was just about enough.The pit bull had bounded up to us, happy as could be, what with being leash-free. His owner arrived just in time for the second fountain. ‘Clean it up!’ I remember saying it firmly, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was shrieking going on.
He stuttered, looking for a way to get out of it. He didn’t apologize, he didn’t leap to help, he didn’t even attach the leash to his dog’s collar.
And then the dog, realizing he was still free, made a bolt for it.
That’s when the tears came. They just poured and poured. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
I did what you have to do when a dog’s pissed all over your artwork. Each piece is in a clear plastic sleeve, so very little was damaged, but a whole lot of fairly meticulous cleaning was involved.
Somewhere in the middle of that, everything in my head righted itself and I was happy again. Balanced. There was no stiff upper lip to it, no struggle. It just happened.
That’s the beauty of practicing balance. And with my temperament, I practice balance a LOT.
It comes in handy when a dog pees on your work.